


The Gift of Patience

by kronette



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 03:47:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2836928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even John's patience has limits. Merry Christmas!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gift of Patience

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mm8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mm8/gifts).



John glared at the small bundle of green leaves and white berries he'd so cleverly placed above the kitchen doorway. The mistletoe had been there eight days, and for seven of those days, Sherlock had managed to avoid it completely. Whether by design or sheer, incredible luck – in which John did not believe – Sherlock had remained unkissed. 

Until the night of their Christmas party. 

John's mood had darkened with each encounter. First Molly, with her awkward glance toward her husband before pressing her brightly painted lips to Sherlock's. The kiss had been brief, but John's gaze had been riveted on Molly's hand gripping Sherlock's lapel. The wrinkle she'd caused in the pristine lines of his suit was still there when Greg had laughingly tried to sidestep around Sherlock, then again as Sherlock moved aside, then again. Still laughing, Greg had grasped Sherlock by the shoulders before making a show of their snog. Mrs. Hudson had the grace and dignity to kiss Sherlock's cheek. Mycroft – the least said about that chilly encounter, the better. 

It didn't matter to John that Sherlock looked more than vaguely annoyed, or that Sherlock made sure to avoid the kitchen area entirely after that first horrendous hour. John stalked toward the ice bucket and refilled his glass, the tinkling of ice still heard over the sounds of merriment from the living room. 

The laughter dulled the slightest bit and John sensed someone behind him. Before he could think, he was spun around and kissed – soft and urgent and unbelievingly sweet. Slightly out of breath, keeping his eyes closed, John murmured, "The mistletoe is over there." 

Languid pauses punctuated Sherlock's declaration, "Obviousness _kiss_ is so classically _kiss_ you, John _kiss_. If you wanted to be _kiss_ kissed, _kiss_ you merely needed to state _kiss_ your _kiss_ intentions."

John chuckled and opened his eyes. There was colour high on Sherlock's cheeks and a sparkle that had nothing to do with alcohol brightening his gaze. "Oh, my dear, naïve Mr. Holmes," John teased as his arms curved around Sherlock's waist. "It was never my intention to kiss you." John enjoyed the rare, befuddled expression for the brief seconds it appeared, before being replaced with a smile as naughty and as wide as the one gracing John's lips. "That was merely a prelude to my true intention, which was to unwrap my Christmas present early." 

As fate or coincidence or the impeccable timing of Sherlock Holmes would have it, the clock chose that moment to strike midnight. As their guests cheered and wished each other a happy Christmas in the other room, John pressed Sherlock back against the sink and ran his fingers beneath the edges of Sherlock's wrapping paper. He felt the shiver as his fingertips brushed against overheated skin.

With a last, lingering kiss, John stepped back and straightened Sherlock's jacket. "Best see to our guests, Sherlock. Some will need cab rides home. Most of them, actually. Probably even Mrs. Hudson." 

" _John_ ," Sherlock huffed impatiently. 

John's smile hurt his face as he delighted in the ruffled appearance of the man who had ruffled his life so many, many times. "Patience is a virtue, Sherlock. Did your mother never teach you that? No, she wouldn't have been able to," he answered himself. "You knew everything you were getting with a glance, no need to tear into the bright paper to see what you'd gotten. Well _this_ year, Sherlock Holmes, you are going to learn patience. You are going to savor the anticipation of opening your present, because I am sure as shit going to enjoy every second of waiting to open mine." 

With a short nod, John returned to the party, joining in the carol being shouted more than sung. With a knowing smirk, he watched as the mistletoe sprig vanished into the interior pocket of Sherlock's jacket.


End file.
